


Improperly Nesting

by catididnt



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Nesting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22704208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catididnt/pseuds/catididnt
Summary: When Aziraphale moves his books into his bookshop, he gathers all his favorite books and most are blessed with his angelic presence. While a certain demon may not object to the implications, Heaven would notice, even if they wouldn't believe nesting on Earth possible.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 213
Collections: Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love





	Improperly Nesting

**Author's Note:**

> For whoever said they wanted more nesting fics. I can't figure out where I saw that, but it prompted this.

The thing with physical objects, here on Earth, was how easily they picked up angelic, or demonic, presence after a few centuries. Whenever Aziraphale settled into a base, especially if it lasted, he would end up with blessed tables and chairs, spoons and bowls. Meanwhile, among the reasons Crowley picked up the newest fads was simply ridding himself of the old ones; last thing he wanted was a place full of cursed objects. But they both kept tokens, memories of times humans wouldn't recall in a generation, and those carried their presence even stronger. Honestly, it made settling into a new home easier. Neither of them wanted Heaven or Hell, but Earth was forever different. Heaven and Hell remained as constant as angels and demons and Earth changed as constantly as humans. So they kept and squirreled away mementos, comforted by their own presence, and hid them away through the ages.

And then Aziraphale, who stashed any number of scrolls and manuscripts in some vault Crowley never even tried to find and knew the humans couldn't discover, opened a bookshop. When he first mentioned it, Crowley expected him to pull out some of his favorite treasures, but he assumed the vast majority of items would be newer, at least compared to history. A couple hundred years, possible, by nothing excessive.

Instead, when he first entered the largely empty shop, the bookshelves not yet placed, the tables pushed against a wall waiting to be distributed, no rugs or furniture out, not much except for piles of crates in the back, Crowley stopped short and carefully breathed through his mouth. If he inhaled too deeply, he didn't think he'd ever leave. Worse, the angel waited in the back, just within the little kitchen and just past the stacks of crates.

"Bit much, isn't it?" he managed once he found him.

"Oh?" Aziraphale pulled at the sleeve of his pale coat, frowning at the seam on the arm. "Is it? It won't be hard to fill."

"Not the shop." Crowley rolled his eyes than opened an arm to the crates. "What's that?"

"Books. Blast it." He shook out his arm, the offending sleeve pinching. "The tailor got my measurements wrong and he was so recommended. I can't believe his father retired. I'll need to go elsewhere."

"Just-" He snapped his mouth shut, cutting off the suggestion to miracle it. Always stuffy about miracling his clothes, Aziraphale had been worse since he'd swapped with the executioner. Crowley didn't want to hear about how created clothing wasn't the same as fabric human's crafted again. "The books, angel, or whatever you've stashed in there. You'll have them thinking you're nesting."

"Wha - Don't be ridiculous." Face finally jerking up, wide eyes, they narrowed the next moment as Aziraphale's lips pressed together in disapproval. "No one else is so vulgar to suggest such a thing. On Earth? Absolutely not."

"Wouldn't try it in Hell, and Heaven wouldn't let you ship them up. Earth is the only place you could make a nest with books. I admit, I can't imagine you using anything else." In Heaven, at least before the Fall, angels nested together with their very essence, spinning it together into a place of security and comfort.

"That is quiet unnecessary. This is a shop, a public place, it'd be entirely improper to..." Stalling on the word, he drew in a deep breath then raised a hand and fluttered his fingers. He was right, the sleeve was cut wrong and pulled tight at the elbow. "Any such thing. Really. As if I'd attempt... anything of the sort. No proper angel would start nesting on Earth, with physical objects, and definitely not alone. I don't think it's even possible to do such a thing alone. There's no reason to... even think it." He gave Crowley a proper glare then, and Crowley wouldn't call him out on how improper of an angel Heaven might consider him. Instead, he stepped closer, far too close.

"I have already wondered who would nest with you," he assured him, voice low, holding Aziraphale's eyes. "I don't recall any other angels visiting and humans don't live even a century, hardly enough time to start. Who do you expect to nest with you, Aziraphale?"

"I'm not-" Voice breaking on sudden panic, he caught himself and tried to glare Crowley away, refusing to be crowded. "I am expecting no one, as you very well know. I am not nesting."

"I know very well," he agreed, leaning even closer. "Because I've been keeping you company for more than a few centuries. I know very well there's only one being who walked through that door today and will continue to do so long as you've got a door. And now you're getting ready to nest."

"I'm not." Unable to match Crowley's eyes, his gaze dropped to Crowley's lips then darted away. "You're a demon, not an angel. And this is Earth, not Heaven. I simply gathered my readings, now that I've an opportunity to really study them. Nothing more, my dear, you're letting your imagination get away with you." His eyes flicked back to Crowley's face and he swallowed before dropping them again.

"Demons don't have imaginations," he whispered back.

"Well, you..." Ready to insist on Crowley's abilities, he once more raised his eyes and this time his words caught in his throat. Crowley reached for his arm, and tugged on his sleeve, pulling it straight.

"You're right, it's sized wrong," he commented, speaking at a regular volume as he stepped back. "The styles today require layers of fabric and all of it stitched just so. Bloody hazard. Wish they'd left us somewhere warmer, where humans didn't insist on everything fitting this tight. And their ideas about indecency were never so prudish."

"You... Now you are being ridiculous," Azirphale huffed, lips in a pout that made Crowley's heart sing. The books blessed by his presence centuries, and millennia, ago amplified everything emotion. If they stayed here much longer, Crowley would do something far worse than prudish and Aziraphale hadn't hung curtains yet. "What are you up to with all this nonsense? I'm not nesting, tight clothes have never bothered you, everywhere has it's periods of prudishness, and I like this style. Normally." With another huff, he pulled at his sleeve.

"I've a tailor who can fix it," he offered. "My treat. We can stop in after lunch."

"You don't have tailors," Aziraphale said, eyes narrow again.

"With all this?" he asked, waving at his figure and grinning when Aziraphale was distracted. Not as distracted as Crowley kept feeling, but fair enough. The angel glared at him once he caught on. "The humans ask for a recommendation. Deny them and they keep asking, give them a name and they leave me be. So I got a tailor. He's good at it."

"He didn't sell his soul for his skill, did he?"

"Nothing so vulgar," Crowley promised, grinning despite himself. "Lunch?"

  
  


After Gabriel left, Aziraphale frowned at the medal. The bookcases were lined up, the tables scattered about, the sign over the door in place. With the grand opening so near, he'd no time for gathering wool, yet he stayed seated at the small table, contemplating the medal, the angel with upstretched wings, the laurel encircling it. Utter nonsense after the cross letter Gabriel sent before the whole crepe incident in France.

For a moment, he'd thought it might've been an apology, as much as Gabriel would admit a mistake, because he shouldn't be condemning Aziraphale's use of miracles. No one else knew Earth as well as Aziraphale, no one else stayed on it, surely they should credit him for understanding which miracles were necessary and not judge him harshly for a few comforts. Not just declare them frivolous without even asking for an explanation. Surely Heaven would realize they overreacted. Except Gabriel never intended the medal as an unspoken apology because it'd not been a reward. More decisions about Aziraphale's fate without his input, more control from Heaven over actions, more... Not punishment, of course, not if they really meant to return him to Heaven. Any angel would want to be in Heaven, obviously, any angel would see it as a reward. Any proper angel would. No proper angel would want to be on Earth, tending a bookshop.

Not a proper angel.

Snatching it up, he pinned the medal into his vest, because a proper angel should be proud of such a thing, and crossed to the books he'd begun shelving earlier. If he must be ridiculous, he could think while he worked.

Though he'd never ask, Crowley must've tricked Gabriel out of it. The demon never respected the Archangels, or any angels - not any proper angels. And he'd been outside, with chocolates, when Gabriel arrived. Nothing went so easily Aziraphale's way without a certain demon's trickery. Given time, Aziraphale would have found a way to return himself, he wasn't quite so proper an angel to leave Earth permanently, but it might've taken a century to work his way back and he'd have missed his grand opening and the whole bookshop would've been run into the ground by whoever replaced him.

Micheal indeed! In a bookshop? He didn't know if the suggest insulted himself or her more.

But it wasn't Crowley's part that worried him. Crowley benefited as much from Aziraphale as Aziraphale did Crowley; the demon wouldn't want to deal with an angel fresh from Heaven.

What didn't make any sense, what really worried him, was why Gabriel came at all. Heaven might not, entirely, ignore him, but they came close enough that they'd no clue about the Arrangement. Not in the past seven - eight? six? - hundred years, and nothing of the other meetings in the thousands of years since the Garden. So why, after giving him barely enough attention to recognize which continent he lived on, had Gabriel come up with this scheme and visited Earth itself?

And why had their intrusion felt so... intrusive?

Every meeting left Aziraphale feeling raw and unwanted, but this time it felt especially offensive, as if they'd trespassed because they were angels. As if any angel, proper or not, would know not to show up when... Well? When what?

And it was just nonsense. If no proper angel wanted to be on Earth, then Gabriel really wouldn't have any trouble leaving Aziraphale down here. And if Gabriel knew he was trespassing, he'd make a point of saying it, or not saying it. Subtlety never numbered among Gabriel's skills.

Reaching into the crate only to discover it empty, Aziraphale sighed and headed to the back. It probably had nothing to do with him. Most of the time Heaven never considered him, they'd far more important concerns than a single angel on an island off the European continent. Perhaps Gabriel was arguing with Micheal or Uriel, or someone in another department, about something a mere principality wouldn't even begin to understand. Even when called up to Heaven, which Aziraphale avoided by filing very complete reports, he never stopped to chat. He had no one he cared to chat with, not anyone he'd accidentally bump into. He shouldn't consider himself so key in Gabriel's day that he...

Ready to carry another crate to the front, Aziraphale's thoughts trailed away as his own angelic presence engulfed him. Too easily, he could hear Crowley accusing him of nesting again. Surrounded by his own prescience, he felt his comfort and the ache from the wanting of a second.

But, no. He truly only wanted to study this books again, not... To revisit all of his favorites, nothing more. While he could understand how gathering so many blessed objects together could be misconstrued for nesting material. Technically, it could, theoretically, be a start to... If one was inclined to consider...

He sat on the floor, leaning against the empty bookshelf behind him.

Not by Gabriel. Not only wasn't he inclined to nesting, he would never value physical objects or Earth enough to consider it believable. Still, Heaven would notice the number of blessed objects in a single place and Heaven never ordered him to assemble them, perhaps they thought... Oh, who knew what they thought. Aziraphale couldn't understand the reasoning behind half their directions and they never explained anything to him. They'd let him stay and that's what mattered. Now that he knew what drew their attention, he could clean it up, avoid future notice, keep them from visiting again. The best way to stay on Heaven's good side was to ensure they forgot about him.

Gathering himself up, he approached the nearest crate. Just as he'd removed curses, he removed blessings before. In fact, he did so whenever he moved. Forget one plate and humans started seeing saints in the food they ate. And it wasn't as if Aziraphale gathered this much material he blessed himself for any reason. It was happenstance, and he only thought of nesting because of Crowley's questions. It didn't matter if what he unpacked was blessed. It'd be better if not, in fact. Otherwise perceptive humans might notice and stop in to ask questions.

Hand on the crate, ready to dismiss his lingering aura from everything within, his stomach turned and his chest tightened. Frowning at his body's betrayal, Aziraphale tried to huff and dismiss it. The objects would be fine; blessings ensured they survived a little longer and in better condition, just as curses would deteriorate them quicker, but mundane ways could also preserve them. They'd be perfectly fine.

Except the pain increased, starting not in his physical gut but deeper. Without his touch on them, he couldn't... He wasn't nesting, never intended to nest, and now he was nearly in tears at the thought of not.

"Balderdash," he whispered. He'd no one to nest with, no other angel he would ever welcome and, regardless all else, Crowley was a demon, not an angel. They couldn't nest together, and definitely couldn't hide such an activity. Besides, cursed and blessed items woven together? It'd combust before they started. Such a thing wasn't possible.

Both hands on the crate, he leaned in and concentrated.

Sweat on his brow and his breathing heavy, he stepped away. Everything in the crate was still blessed.

There must be another way. Surely, if he went through the crates, examining each object and book, he could choose individually which to keep and which... His fingers twitched. To hold each and clear away his touch from them?

Removing the blessings wouldn't endanger them. He'd not lose any... They'd all remain here, safe in the bookshop. He would work with them, learn from them, assign them a place, recall when they'd been newly acquired. His memories of them wouldn't change, they were mere objects. Fascinating, endearing, yet only... None of them as important as what their blessings risked. Just objects...

He breathed deeply into his stomach, held it then exhaled slowly. And stared at the crates radiating peace and comfort. Radiating _him_.

If he couldn't dismiss the blessings, what did he intend to say the next time Gabriel stopped in? In their crates, they were merely a collection of objects blessed by the same angel. While Crowley guessed at their importance before Aziraphale recognized it, Heaven wouldn't miss it once he put them out. How did he mean to explain anything to Heaven? He could barely speak to Gabriel already, he couldn't excuse this.

And Crowley. What could he say to Crowley? He wouldn't need to explain anything to him. Worse the risk, from both Heaven and Hell. Hell would notice any nesting on Earth as surely as Heaven. Even knowing all that, even if they risked blowing up the entire city, Aziraphale knew how Crowley would react if he invited him.

Resolute, he once more placed both hands on the crate and concentrated. A moment later, the blessings faded.

Stepping away, he found the nastiest alcohol in the shop, a welcome gift from his new neighbor, some of the cheapest brandy he'd ever smelled. Emptying the bottle far too quickly, his stomach now in revolt for a purely chemical reason, he cleared every blessing from the rest of the crates before sobering up.

  
  


~~~

  
  


Though destroyed in fire, Aziraphale never saw his bookshop in ruins. Wandering it after Crowley left, he touched this and that, assessing the difference between Adam's reality and the previous. Most of the items were the same, with a few additions of whatever books Adam believed an old bookshop should have. After today, Aziraphale could open a children's section of first editions. (Not that he'd sell all of them. Some he'd keep until they became truly unique. And he rather liked having a pristine copy of Winnie the Pooh, his other copies all reread so often they hardly looked like books anymore.)

More importantly, when Adam remade it, he'd kept the centuries of love and comfort nestled into every crevice, from the worn couch to the rarely used cash register to the stock of wines in the cellar. Despite everything that happened, still felt like home.

Among it, hidden beneath Aziraphale's own presence, were trinkets containing Crowley's demonic touch. Dozens of sunglasses from across the centuries, hats he favored until nearly out of style then 'accidentally' left behind, jackets, jewelry, his favorite wine and whiskey glasses, trinkets from Ashtoreth for Frances (on the pretense of arranging their next meeting), and any number of the gifts Crowley carried, often for weeks while thinking of Aziraphale and waiting for the opportunity to share them. Over the years, Aziraphale kept them all, protected them, ensured they'd not lose their demon's touch. His own space always bare, the opposite of Hell, Crowley had few items to contribute until he started keeping the plants fifty some years ago. For all he suggested it first, he never helped with it, never quietly encouraged the possibility.

But they were on their own side now and Aziraphale was quite finished with waiting.

Keeping an ear open for the phone, he wasn't prepared for the jingle of the bell instead. Off to drive his car and check on his own things, Crowley should have been amused for the majority of the day. They spent the night together and just had lunch before Aziraphale returned; surely he wanted more than a few hours of driving. He had been in the Bentley as it burned up and they both saw it explode. And then, probably, he'd need to realign anything in his meticulously clean flat that Aziraphale misplaced that morning while on his own. Of course, he must feel the need to yell at the poor plants since the world hadn't ended.

But Aziraphale locked the door to ensure no one else could walk in, so it could only be Crowley. He dropped the blankets on the sofa and dashed, as if he might possibly reach the front in time to rush Crowley out.

"Angel! How's inventory-" The door slammed shut as Crowley stumbled back into it and, for a terrifying moment, Aziraphale thought he misunderstood all of their past interactions. As he came out from between the shelves, however, Crowley sat on the floor before the door, unafraid if flustered. Shocked, not angry or bitter. He'd not run out in disgust. Hand pressed against his chest, Aziraphale exhaled in relief.

"I thought you'd call first," he apologized, moving to his side and reaching to help him stand. "I meant to have it ready when you arrived. I didn't mean for you to just walk in like this." Nesting could begin when one angel prepared and, after centuries, the shop echoed with Aziraphale so much already, he needed only shift things about. But he thought he'd have more time.

Opening and closing his mouth, Crowley's hand clasped Aziraphale's wrist, for all he couldn't look at him, while behind his shades his eyes darted over the books and shelves. Little had changed physically, a few of the piles turned, several shelves of books reorganized, chairs and tables in new locations, but no new items, nothing visually noticeable.

"You shouldn't be this surprised, my dear," Aziraphale continued, slightly peevish when Crowley kept searching instead of speaking. Since Heaven knew Aziraphale stayed here for hundreds of years, as he had in other places and other times, they'd expected the shop itself to become blessed and he'd been careful to arrange things so assumptions couldn't be made. He no longer cared what conclusions Heaven reached, not about him and Crowley. "You suggested it."

Finally, he made a sound, nearly a word, gawking at Aziraphale then waving desperately between himself and the shop. "I didn't!"

"You did. When I was moving in and you recommended your tailor." He pulled at his sleeve, though this sleeve, ignoring it's destructive trip to Heaven and Adam reforming it, had been prepared by that tailor's nephew. "And you noted only one suitable partner to join me. You didn't think I'd forget, did you?" He paused, covering the hand on his wrist with his own. "You don't think I forget anything so important, do you, dear?"

"You..." he glanced around, searching for something, then yanked his shades off and gestured at the shop again, this time while holding Aziraphale's blue eyes with his fully yellow snake eyes. "You can't just - just do this!"

"Well," he began, feeling this was getting out of hand, though he couldn't entirely blame Crowley. It'd been a long week, full of shocks, and he'd probably wanted a bit of normalcy. Aziraphale should've set a time, suggested dinner or drinks this evening, and given himself enough of a chance to complete his preparations. "I don't think Heaven will be stopping in to scold me about it. Or Hell, if they were so inclined to want books. In fact, there's only one being in all of creation whose opinion on the matter I would respect. Would you like me to stop?" he asked pointedly, keeping his expression serious and his smile entirely hidden. "Should I not 'just do this'? I could-"

"I didn't say that!"

"Not specifically," he agreed, keeping his voice soft and understanding, with a touch of regret and acceptance. "But you're protesting a great deal, so can't possibly be glad to see it. Perhaps you meant to warm me against it last time? I can stop." Nodding at the necessity, he turned as if contemplating the shelves, dropping his hand from over Crowley's and pressing his lips together. "I wasn't ready yet, after all. I didn't mean for you to come in with it not yet half prepared. We can pretend I never-"

"No!" Crowley grabbed his hand, keeping it firmly in his as he pulled Aziraphale back to look at him. "I don't want to pretend again. I want - I..." As he struggled to say it aloud, Aziraphale's resolve failed him and he beamed at his flustered demon. Crowley actually blinked before he recovered, and smiled despite himself. "Oh, you bastard."

"My dear, you can't think I would give up that easily? After everything we faced, everything we'll still face? Oh, my love," he paused, still beaming, to pull him into an embrace, "you can't think I ever doubted your acceptance? You've never rejected me." He wrapped his arms around him, holding him securely as Crowley tightened the embrace. "You do deserve a proper invitation, even if I'm not a proper angel."

"Who'd want a proper angel?" Crowley asked, hesitated then pressed his forehead against Aziraphale's. "I'm not a proper demon."

"So neither of us will be terribly unhappy nesting improperly on Earth, with improper physical objects? Shall we also improperly interrupt my start?"

"I'd ask what else we've been up to for the past several thousand years," he replied, leaning away to smile, "but as long as I'm with you, it doesn't really matter when it starts. How do you plan for an improper angel and improper demon to begin improperly nesting? Can a demon even nest?"

"I'm quite certain of it," he promised. "You'll find a way, we will, if the need arises. We'll start with a few bottles of wine and you can help me arrange the shop to ensure you accept my invitation? I'm quite certain your input will be spot on."

"Oh." Though he started to grin, his eyes widened at the new thought. "I can organize you, can't I? You can organize me. They're just things. Our things, and we can just pick them up and move them, each of us whichever."

"And imagine the 'things' we'll have in a few centuries?" he prompted, this speculation having distracted him several times this afternoon. "Will they be demonic or angelic? Blessed or cursed? My dear, what will it feel like when an angel and a demon take to nesting?"

At that, though, Crowley smiled with pure confidence and touched a light kiss to Aziraphale's lips. "Home."


End file.
